Bulletproof Hearts and Hollow Point Smiles
by FullmetalEddie
Summary: It's ironic, he thought – you never feel as alive as you do when you're about to die.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Bulletproof Hearts and Hollow-Point Smiles

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **It's ironic, he thought – you never feel as alive as you do when you're about to die.

**A/N:** As my first multiple-chapter fanfiction, writing _Bulletproof Hearts and Hollow-Point Smiles_ was both fun and tiring. I am hoping to tie up this particular story in three total chapters. Questions and comments, as always, are welcomed; What better way for a writer to grow, than to hear the criticisms of others? Thanks for reading.

**Chapter 1**

_Richard Castle drained the remnants of his Merlot, allowing his eyes to close only for the briefest of moments before beginning their fruitless examination of the tacky dining room anew. He had chosen this place, citing the supposed excellence of their chicken parmesan entree. If he was being honest, however, he didn't even know if it was on their menu. No...he had chosen this place, on the corner of 87th and Hamilton, for her. Just four blocks from her apartment, where he knew that she could come to him if he needed her. _

_She always did. _

_A waiter with a boyish face mumbled half-heartedly at him, dutifully reciting the day's specials onto deaf ears. _

"_I'm waiting for someone", he responded simply, dismissing the teenager with a strained smile, "he should be here any minute."_

* * *

><p>Blood, thick with his own saliva, fell in a lazy strand from his nose and mouth to his chest, the resulting dark stain branching ominously through his cotton shirt to where it joined in the midsection. He gurgled painfully as his throat involuntarily convulsed and gagged, rejecting the coppery flow to his stomach and lungs. He was drowning in his own blood.<p>

He was bleeding out.

_A tourniquet. He needed a tourniquet._

Castle moaned as he used what strength he had to heave his arm across his midsection, fingering the edges of his suit jacket. Rolling his shoulder back to shrug the heavy fabric from his arm, he couldn't help letting out a sharp gasp as another surge of pain ripped through him. A weak spurt of blood made the hand resting on his wounds slick as he sagged against the dumpster. There was no use; He couldn't.

It wasn't supposed to end this way. Not like this.

* * *

><p><em>Rick arose from his chair, his face and voice smoothly transitioning into the charming persona that he had mastered so well. For a single, imperceptible moment, he faltered: This would be the last time that he would address his friend that he had leaned on as a crutch and an anchor for so long; This would be the last night that he could go on living this cops-and-robbers fantasy that he had been desperately clinging to for the last four years. Or was it her that he was clinging to, now? He knew the answer.<em>

_Sharply returning the matter at hand, he extended his arms, not for a handshake, but instead for a hearty embrace. _

"_Well, if it isn't the mayor himself, as I live and breathe. Rob, how've you been, you sunofabitch?"_

_His old friend returned the embrace with equal fervor, wearing a grin that, Castle silently noted, never quite reached his eyes. He never answered the question. "Let's sit."_

* * *

><p>Kate's quickened breath formed hurried clouds of condensation in her wake as it met with the frigid evening air. The soles of her sneakers thudded heavily against the pavement as she made jerky transitions from a brisk walk to a jog, weaving between the late-dinner crowds that would occasionally shuffle by, unaware – or, perhaps, just uncaring – of the hollow distress evident in her features.<p>

She had been flipping through her copy of _Storm Warning_ when the crackling of her police scanner caught her ear. It's what she always did when life seemed overwhelming and out of control. She never told him, lest she endure his knowing gaze and swollen ego, but the _Storm_ adventures kept her grounded; even more, they kept her sane during her lowest hours in between the pangs of guilt and misery over her mother's death. He – and his books – were her anchor and shelter in a storm.

But he didn't need to know that.

She palmed the grip of her service Glock, loyally holstered beneath her jacket. After the shooting that day in the cemetery, her confidence in it, and her own ability, had waned. But he had been there, as he always was, to pick up the pieces, to soothe her with his words of belief and encouragement. Now, in this moment, she had never been more ready to use this weapon. For him. She broke into a run, her breath becoming ragged as she hurriedly clipped her badge to her belt. Two more blocks, according to the scanner.

"_All available local units, we have a report of shots fired at the corner of 87th and Hamilton – a secondary anonymous caller has reported a victim in critical condition. Ambulance and fire are en route, E.T.A. four minutes. Victim was identified by the caller as a Richard Castle...he's one of ours."_

* * *

><p><em>Despite their smiles and booming voices, the atmosphere at the table was tense. Castle noted, with a certain amount of uneasiness, that Robert had brought with him two stoic men in sharply-fitted suits, introduced to him only as Mr. Cutler and Mr. Jackson.<em>

"_So, Rob...how have things been topside? Gotham City still under control since you've let Batman join the 12th?" Castle waggled one eyebrow suggestively in parodic self-praise. _

"_Things have been...interesting, I guess you could say." The mayor had let his carefully-maintained guise fall, and was staring intently at him through half-lidded eyes. He looked almost genuinely sorrowful, Castle mused. Impressive. _

"_I know..." the mayor paused, as if searching for the right words, "I know what you've been doing the last few months. I know...damnit, Rick."_

_Castle stared back at him with glazed eyes, his mind whirring. He had played enough poker with this man to know how to hide the hand he was dealt, but now, he was slipping. He hoped that Rob hadn't seen his strained gulp as his mouth ran dry. _

_The mayor leaned towards him, embers of rage kindling behind his eyes. _

"_We gave you every opportunity to step away. Every opportunity. I knew all along that you wouldn't be able to resist that damned curiosity of yours, but I still hoped. You know how dangerous this is, for you, your mother...for Alexis...to continue investigating this. Why, Rick? Is it for her? That woman?"_

_Castle licked his lips, dragging his teeth over his lower lip as if in contemplative thought. He knew. _

"_I don't know what you're talking about, Rob. Come on, be real with me."_

_The mayor shook his head sadly, shifting his exasperated gaze to the empty plate in front of him. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Come on...don't you think, after all this time – after everything that I've done for you – I deserve a little more respect than that?" _

_Something inside of Castle seethed, only to be quelled again by the seed of doubt. _

"_I don't owe you anything. Nothing can excuse what you've done, no amount of personal favors. And damnit, I wish that this was happening any other way, but it's not. You're making me choose between a lifelong friend, and the woman that I...the woman that I care about. This is breaking her. She needs to know. I need her to know. I can't carry this anymore." _

"_We were young, Castle. I was on my way up, and those officers were foolish and reckless. There's nothing that I can do about that now, you have to understand. Please...this will cost me everything. Everything."_

"_I know. I know that you paid the hired guns that killed these people. People like Joanna Beckett. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons...for what? A rung up on the political ladder? This is...I can't..." He was losing it._

The mayor studied him, unblinking for several long moments. Castle had lost his read on him, if he had ever had it at all, and now, he stirred uncomfortably beneath his friend's gaze. All bets were in, and he had lost this hand. Time to pay the price.

"_You really won't re-consider? For us? For you, and for her? How do you think she'll feel when she finds out that all of this was pieced together behind her back, and that her writer-pal's best friend is involved? When you're forced out of that precinct on your ass? You think THAT won't break her?"_

_The small restaurant had grown quiet as the last table of patrons left, leaving only a few lingering stragglers at the bar. Castle stared down at his cloth napkin, folding it neatly over itself in the thick silence. He couldn't even look at his friend; He could barely believe that this was happening at all. Coward._

"_I'm sorry, Rob. I've made my choice."_

"_I'm sorry to hear that, Rick."_

* * *

><p>Kate's heart thudded heavily in her chest as she reached the intersection. There were no first-responders yet – no flashing red and blue lights to bring her the comfort she needed, that he was in good hands. That he was alive at all.<p>

A curse hissed from her lips as she wracked her brain, trying to recall the exact location that had crackled through on the scanner.

_Where are you, Rick? Where would you go?_

There was a pawn shop on the northwest corner, an adjacent auto repair shop, and a grungy hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant to the southeast. The restaurant. That had to be it.

She ran towards the dingy alley, snapping her Glock out of its holster as she cleared the first corner.

"NYPD!", she called, her voice scratchy in the cold air. Strafing briskly through the dust and overflowing trash bags, her trained eyes scanned for movement in the darkness. The streetlight at the mouth of the alley glinted off of the ground, catching in her peripheral vision. With her pistol still outstretched in front of her, she slowed and felt a sickening drop in her stomach. She could smell the coppery tang in the air as she aimed her flashlight downwards, illuminating the discovery that she wasn't sure she even wanted to see. Her teeth set on edge.

It was a blood smear, ending in a distinct, dragging shape. A hand print.

* * *

><p>Castle wheezed as a deep shudder rumbled through his body, catching in his throat. Even after the earlier incident in the freezer with Kate, he couldn't recall feeling so intensely cold to his core. He wasn't fooling anyone – well, he supposed, he wasn't fooling himself – he was dying.<p>

A soft whimper fell from his lips as his eyes wearily raked over the asphalt. Blood had pooled beneath him, and was lazily streaming past his legs into the nearby sewer grate. There was so much blood. _Too much blood._

A gurgling cough sent thick splatters of crimson onto his pants. How long had it been? Two minutes? Ten minutes? An hour? Hot tears pricked at his eyes as he lolled his head back against the cool metal, succumbing to the creeping fatigue. Was anybody coming for him? Where were the sirens, and the lights?

Where was she?

* * *

><p><em>Castle rose cautiously from the table, unsure of how to proceed. Sorry I'm about to ruin your life, friend, how about I pick up the check? It was almost laughable. <em>

_But nobody was smiling._

_He threw a $100 bill on the table and turned, unwilling to look back at the man that he had practically revered for so long. Dropping his head in defeat, he began to weave around the empty tables to the exit, praying that it would be the end. Praying that he wouldn't become one of his mayor's "loose ends" to be dealt with. Two chairs scraped the dingy tile behind him._

_Oh, no. _

_Two pairs of hands grabbed him roughly on either side, and he felt himself falling backwards as he was dragged through the bar to the rear exit. The heels of his shoes hissed and squeaked as they trailed the tile, legs and arms flailing in a frantic, fruitless attempt to escape. His head collided with the heavy wooden door as they shoved him through to the dank alley, sprawling him against the dumpster on the far wall. Still reeling, he glared between the thugs to the scene within, expecting that the frightened bartender would see him, and come to his aid. As the door shut with a soft thud, he could make out the exchange of some bills, and a dripping, cooing reassurance:_

"You'll have to excuse our...intoxicated...friend, here. We'll take good care of him."

_SCHLINK-SCHLINK  
><em>

_The sharp whispers of Mr. Jackson's silenced .22 Ruger reverberated off of the weathered brick walls, the crackles dissipating into the night sky above. _

_Richard Castle knew all of the film and literature cliches for a character who has been shot. His own characters – the ever-masculine Derek Storm, and even Nikki Heat - had danced that particular number plenty of times. Though wounded, they gathered themselves like the headstrong warriors that they were; They carried on, defeated their dastardly foes, then went on to save another day, and another world. He always had been a romantic. _

_But this wasn't his story. _

_He simply stood before the two men, staring past them into the thousand miles of nothingness that overtakes you in that single moment of clarity. It's ironic, he thought – you never feel as alive as you do when you're about to die. Blood began to leech out onto his collared shirt, trickling hot, wet paths to his waistline. Bringing his hand to the ragged holes, he lightly placed his palm to himself before lifting it back to reveal vivid red. It's such an...alive color, he mused to himself. Not something that he would associate with a slow death, or the eternal unknown._

_His knees buckled, legs sprawling in front of him as his back raked painfully against the metal of the dumpster. He raised his head to meet Robert, who had joined them in the alley and was currently staring down at his old friend with equal parts sorrow and vindictiveness. Next to him, Mr. Jackson was releasing the magazine from the pistol and locking the chamber open. He threw it carelessly to Rick's side. The professional killer's throwaway pistol, for a throwaway life. _

_The mayor angrily pulled his gloves over his fingers, and looked to Mr. Cutler: "Wait two minutes, then call the police. Make it look like a mugging gone wrong. You know how it's done." He paused, looking down to Castle. Were those tears glassing over his eyes, or just the fatigue that comes with murdering an old friend? _

"_I really am sorry, Rick. I'll..." his speech hitched for the briefest of moments. Maybe the old bastard really did feel something. Not that it mattered now. "I'll make sure that Alexis and Martha are alright. I'll make sure..."_

_Tom's breath really did catch this time, as he stared vacantly down the alley. _

"_You didn't deserve to die this way. I'm sorry."_

_And he was gone._

* * *

><p>Around the corner, the rustle of trash bags and a wet scrape against the pavement startled Beckett back to her surroundings. The hand print wasn't going anywhere, and she was running out of time – if she had even made it in time at all. She rose again to the combat stance, her back slinking against the far wall as she widely rounded the corner, Glock aimed steadily in front of her.<p>

She wasn't ready for what she found.

Slumped against a rusted restaurant dumpster, chin dangling limply to his chest in a slick puddle of red, was Castle. Her partner. _Her best friend._

"No...no, no, no..."

She disregarded everything she had ever learned at the academy and on the brutal city streets as a patrol officer, running to him without even completing her preliminary clearing of the scene. Sliding to her knees beside him, the Glock fell from her hands and was replaced by the lapels of Castle's suit jacket; In that moment, her world was frozen in time. All that existed was him.

"Castle? CASTLE!", her voice broke with desperation as she lifted his chin with one hand, smoothing his blood-matted hair from his eyes with the other, "please...oh, fuck. Come on! Please!" She heard the wail of emergency sirens in the distance. They wouldn't get here fast enough.

_No...they had to._

He was quivering violently, his cool skin moist with a sheen of sweat. Here he was, bleeding out in an alley, and what was she doing? Yelling in his face like some sort of lost child. Pressure. She needed to apply pressure.

Beckett pulled at the sides of his suit jacket, swiftly tugging it backwards down onto his elbows. His hand fell listlessly from his abdomen with the sudden jolt, revealing the two telltale bullet wounds that were still steadily seeping onto his shirt. It didn't look good.

Hooking her hands around his collar, she let out a low grunt of effort as she forced the halves apart, sending buttons bouncing and skittering across the pavement. Fingers trailed from his sternum down across his belly, in search of any more less-apparent wounds that needed attention. Fortunately, it seemed to be just the two nauseating bullet holes.

'Fortunately', she inwardly grimaced, is not a descriptor that she had ever thought she'd use at a time like this.

"Beckhhett? Kate?"

Her head snapped up at the feeble, slurred speech that floated down to her. He was staring at her crookedly, his head lolled to the side, with no energy to brace it. His eyes, usually so vividly blue – so alive – were glazed over with a sorrowful grey behind heavy lids, his dilated pupils almost washing out their color altogether.

"Yuhh know, I always...wond'rd 'bout the day you'd...rip my clothes off." He spoke in shallow breaths, the edges of his mouth curling into a ghastly grin that flashed his teeth, stained a sickly pink. Beckett swallowed hard and looked away; Looked at anything that wasn't the man in front of her, spitting and slurring his last words through his own filth and fluids. Even from him, the innuendo seemed wildly inappropriate at a time like this – but maybe that was just one his humorous coping mechanisms. The ones that he had lovingly chided her for begrudging him that day in the tiger holding cell.

And then, he giggled. A deranged, creeping giggle that made her stomach twist.

He was in shock.

"Damnit," she hissed to herself. She should have recognized it as soon as she saw him. Why, of all times, could she not focus now?

The wailing of the ambulance and fire units were agonizingly close. "Castle, listen to me," she said as evenly as she could, wadding her jacket into an untidy rag before pressing it gently to him, "I'm going to do something, and it's going to hurt. I'm going to put pressure on this, so that you don't lose any more blood, okay?" He stared blankly back at her, his silly, sickening grin still ghosting his lips. She bit her lip to suppress the quaver in her voice before continuing: "I need you to stay with me, Rick, okay? Talk to me about your favorite case. You liked that one with the superhero. Please, stay with me." She leaned the heels of her hands into the jacket, forcing her weight down to his wounds.

A howl ripped from his lungs into the frigid air. She hung her head between her arms, slamming her eyes shut. She couldn't break down now; This wasn't about her. He was the one that was bleeding out, but god, that sound. It wasn't human. It was a shrieking, animalistic bawl that signals only pain and the frenzied, primitive instinct for survival. It was a sound that she had never wanted to hear, and prayed that she would never hear again.

Screeching of tires signaled the arrival of the EMT's and responding officers. She heard herself crying out to them – to anyone – for help as she watched his eyes roll back into his head, drifting in her own slow-motion surreality. She was being dragged away from him by her forearms. She couldn't remember if she struggled.

The cooing voices of Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan distantly reached her ears as they surrounded her, occasionally barking orders to the patrol officers who were scurrying around the alley.

"_What happened?" "Are you hurt?" "Did you see the shooter?" "God, look at him, man." "Get a unit behind that ambulance – I want to know what's happening, when it's happening."_

"_Why would this happen?"_

The paramedics were shouting to one another as Castle was heaved onto a gurney and fastened into place. Orders and feet were flying faster than Beckett could keep track of, still reeling from the adrenaline rush that still caused her to shiver.

Seven minutes ago, she was at home on her couch. How life can change so quickly.

She shrugged the blanket that had seemingly materialized on her shoulders to the ground, and ran towards the closing ambulance doors. She heard her name behind her. She didn't care.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. Make room for one more, I'm coming with you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Bulletproof Hearts and Hollow-Point Smiles

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **It's ironic, he thought – you never feel as alive as you do when you're about to die.

**A/N:** I apologize for the wait on this chapter; Life has been very busy, and unfortunately, leisure activities such as these will always come second. I'll work hard on preparing the next chapter for release in one week or less. Thanks for your patience, and I hope that you continue to enjoy it. This is a trek into uncharted territory for me!

**Chapter 2**

Kate slid into the retractable auditorium-style seat, her knees slanting to the side to allow the two medics passage through the cramped space. They were speaking to one another calmly, their voices resonating from the steel and plastic confines with a steady determination. She would never understand how they did it – how they could look at the broken and the dying every single day, and still respond with cool, collected objectivity.

She did that every day at crime scenes, she supposed, but this was different. These people were alive. They had families, hopes, thoughts, dreams...

Castle's body shuffled like a ragdoll, unconscious to the chaos unfolding around him as the gurney was again secured in the back of the ambulance. An EMT had placed a bag valve mask over his mouth and was pumping it steadily, the soft plastic of the clear nosepiece fogging with each forced exhalation. She glanced around his arm at the swinging ID tag. Roger Denton, Sentinel Ambulance Services.

_Thank you, Roger._

The second EMT, obviously the lead paramedic and captain of the boat, slammed the back doors in unison. "Fire it up, Jonesy, this one's running towards the light!"

As if on queue, the driver, who Beckett could only assume was "Jonesy", activated the siren and pulled out of the alley, horn ominously blaring at the sidewalk gawkers blocking the exit.

The paramedic glanced at her before turning to the insulated cooler on the wall, undoing the latches with a soft hiss. He pulled out a clear drip bag, followed by a second that made her stomach turn. Blood.

"I..." she stammered, her eyes locked on the crimson pack, "I don't know what his blood type is."

His back was still turned as he busily set to work, hanging the two bags on a small metal hook above the cabinets. "It's alright, Miss. This is O negative, just to keep him with us until we have him into Mercy and can get him an exact match."

_Of course it was. Come on, Kate, keep it together._

He handed the connector to Roger. "Start the intravenous; Continuous flow on that O-neg transfusion. Miss...Beckett, was it? What can you tell me about what happened here?"

He lifted her jacket from Castle's wounds where it had been ebbing the flow of blood and replaced it with gauze, using his hands to return pressure. Red droplets squeaked against the latex of his gloves.

She swallowed. Under the fluorescent lights, the wounds glared up at her, his skin raw and burned where the bullets had ripped through him. It reminded her of something that she'd see on one of Lanie's slabs.

"I wasn't there when it happened. I live nearby, and responded to the report when it came through on my scanner." Her words quavered, and nearly faded amongst the rustles and clinks of the two men working to stabilize him. "He's my partner, you know."

Looking over to Castle's face, she felt her throat close. His skin was pallid, interrupted only by the vivid contrast of occasional flecks of blood.

"He...I think he was shot twice, but it was dark. I couldn't tell. Probably a large caliber based on how much blood was on the ground. He was delirious when I found him, probably in shock. When -" The shriek of Castle's vital monitor sliced through her recount.

Kate's world stopped for the second time that night.

Roger grabbed the edge of the screen, turning it towards him as his eyes scanned the numbers wildly.

"_Sir, look at his heart rate; He's going into VFIB."_

"_Shit...get the paddles and charge to 150. Jonesy, where are we?"_

"_45 seconds out._"

He tossed the connector on the clear drip bag to Roger. _"Dope him. He can't wait. We're going to have to toast him here."_

Roger slid the needle into Castle's arm with hurried precision as the nameless paramedic lifted the defibrillator paddles from their dock.

_"We're starting him on a dopamine drip, Miss, to help stabilize his heart after the shock. But you might want to look away, all the same." _

The paddles were on his chest now. _Just like a movie_, she thought to herself numbly. Just like all of those movies where a magical shock brings life back to the dead, and promises a happily ever after ending. But this was real.

"_CLEAR!"_

Castle's torso convulsed upwards as the paddles discharged into his body. Roger reported:

"_No change, sir."_

"_Charge to 200."_

"_ETA 20 seconds, Brady."_

Brady. That's one little mystery solved.

The defibrillator whined back to life.

"_CLEAR!"_

* * *

><p>Esposito's chin dropped down to his chest, eyes closed as he lightly pinched the bridge of his nose. Four hours they'd been here in this alley, and there was almost nothing to show for it. There was nothing that he could tell Beckett that she wouldn't already know. <em>Damnit<em>. He opened his eyes.

The deep red puddle where they had found Castle had dried into a sludge and pooled neatly in front of the dumpster, dully reflecting the grey-blue chill of the impending sunrise. He heard the slow shuffling of feet next to him, but didn't bother to acknowledge it; He knew who it would be.

"That's a lot of blood, Espo. A lot..."

Ryan's voice trailed into nothingness as they stared down to the asphalt. His eyes were rimmed and glazed with a sleepless night and hours of forcefully restrained emotion.

"What if...?"

"Don't say it, bro. Don't even _think_ it."

Esposito had turned away and was shuffling towards the crime scene tape at the mouth of the alley. Ryan swallowed heavily; He understood. What others mistook for passivity, he knew was pain. His friend was grieving – they all were.

"What I mean is...we should be prepared. You know?", he said quietly, lengthening his pace to match his friend's, "Just in case. For Beckett."

Esposito jerked the yellow tape over his head savagely, never breaking his forward gaze.

"I know."

* * *

><p>Kate sat in an empty corner of the surgical waiting room, her knees pulled to her chest in the uncomfortable wooden seat. She knew that she must look pathetic, alone and coiled up with her red-glazed eyes and stained clothing, her face that of a little lost child.<p>

No, she thought. Not a child. This is the face of a creature who has just lost everything.

She closed her eyes and lowered her forehead to the cool denim covering her knees, uncaring of the thick dust and dried blood that still smudged them. She knew that she should be going home to her apartment to change and at least make an attempt at some rest; He wouldn't be out of surgery for at least another two hours, and she couldn't let him see her like this if he made it out to the recovery ward.

"_When,"_, she thought to herself fiercely, eyes pricking with another threat of furious tears at her own slip, "_WHEN he makes it out to the recovery ward."_

The pads of her fingers brushed absently against the cuff of her shirtsleeve, which had crusted over with Castle's blood and her own pained tears hours before. When the ambulance had arrived in the emergency bay, he was lost to her in a sea of brightly colored scrubs and piercing voices as he was briskly wheeled away to the restricted depths of the surgical wing. Foggy memories of crying out to him replayed in her mind as her fingers tightened around the crimson-stained fabric. The paramedic that they called Brady had held her back, his grip on her arm firm yet gentle.

"_Let them go, Miss. We did what we could – he's in good hands now. Let them do their jobs."_

Not long afterward, she finally let go. In the silence of the northwest surgical stairwell, her lungs and eyes burned with sobs as the consequences of unrelenting adrenaline and bound emotion crashed to her shoulders.

Control was something that they had unknowingly perfected together, tweaking and adjusting until they had reached a blissful equilibrium in their relationship's balance of power. Together, they silently loved and protected; they teased and quarreled – but always with the understanding and promise of another tomorrow. Of another morning coffee, another meaningful glance, and what she had always hoped was another step towards what might be a promising future together.

But there was no control now. There were no promises. He had been carried away from her, and she had been left alone, covered in sweat, blood, and the hollowing sorrow of reality. He was in their hands now, and she was utterly useless to him. She had failed him.

Kate's head jerked up at the familiar voices floating to her ears from down the hallway. She swiped at her eyes and hastily smoothed her creased t-shirt before rising from her chair to face them. Her eyes widened as she exhaled her words, inwardly wincing at how desperate and small she sounded.

"Javi! Kevin! I didn't know you had cleared the...area...yet."

Her words had slipped as she noticed the two redheads, protectively flanked by her friends.

_'Crime scene'...come on, Kate? As if they weren't distressed and shaken enough as it is._

Esposito's features darkened almost imperceptibly before he regained his composure and gestured for them to sit.

Beckett and Ryan shared a glance as he cleared his throat. "We did what we could. CSU is finishing up with collection right now – everything double- and triple-checked, just like we knew you'd want it."

He shot her a shy smile, exhaustion clearly evident in his voice and features. She didn't expect that any of them would be getting any rest for awhile.

Esposito chirped into the conversation, obviously straining to sound lighthearted and reassuring for Castle's only family:

"We found these two lovely ladies coming out of the cafeteria on our way in. Have you two been here long?"

Martha smiled at him, patting his knee softly before wrapping an arm around her granddaughter's shoulders.

"Kate called us about three hours ago. We rushed right in, obviously, but he had already been...taken away. Just like Richard, you know, always disappearing in a knick of time."

If her comment was an attempt to alleviate the heavy tension in the air around them, it had failed. The blue of her eyes shone brilliantly against the red glaze, betraying her lack of sleep and what Kate knew was crying, hidden from the watchful eyes of the teenager seated next to her.

Beckett surged with emotion. This woman had raised Castle – _her_ Castle - from an infant, imparting her cryptic wisdom, deviance, and no small appreciation of drama onto him. For as much as she feigned exasperation at his antics, he was a man with an incredible wit, drive, and capacity for love that she had never witnessed in another – and it was all due, at least in part, to Martha. Strong, crafty, endlessly loving Martha, who even now as her son's life hung in the balance, restrained her emotions in the name of Alexis' comfort.

'Admiration' did not even skim the surface of Kate's appreciation.

Alexis leaned into her grandmother's shoulder, her icy blue eyes – just like her father's - staring listlessly at the thin, worn carpeting. Beckett cleared her throat uncertainly, leaning her elbows forward on her knees as she struggled to find the words that the girl needed to hear.

"I...how are you doing, Alexis?"

_'How are you doing?' Really, Beckett?_

The girl stilled, but her eyes never left their spot on the floor. Moments passed, none of them entirely certain of what to say. A frigid hiss broke the silence.

"My dad is being sliced up by a bunch of strangers who are trying to remove bullet fragments from his stomach, most of his blood volume is clotting in an alley somewhere, and from what I can tell, you guys don't have any clue who did it."

Thick stillness filled the air, its occupants either stunned or disheartened into silence.

"The doctors said that 'they didn't know the extent of the damage', but I saw the HR and grief representatives hovering around like vultures. I saw how they looked at us, and how they whispered. I probably won't have a dad by this afternoon."

"How do you think I'm doing?"

Alexis stood abruptly, brushing her grandmother's arm away before wrapping herself in her arms and stalking to the stairwell door, throwing it open and disappearing inside.

Beckett's head – and heart – dropped.

"Damnit."

Weary hands scrubbed over her face as she let out a quavering breath.

_Damn._


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Bulletproof Hearts and Hollow-Point Smiles

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **It's ironic, he thought – you never feel as alive as you do when you're about to die.

**A/N:** This chapter is a little shorter, but it's needed to set the stage for the rest of the story, which I am very excited about. I have storyboarded it in a way that will tie it up in five chapters instead of the intended three, but hey, the more [content], the merrier. Thanks for reading.

**Chapter 3**

None of them had moved for half an hour.

Nurses and visitors bustled around them as they sank into the background, a forlorn still-life of despair and exhaustion. It wasn't a unique scene within the walls of the trauma surgery ward waiting room, yet the pain never lost its significance. This was a place for the the lost – for those with little to hope for and everything to lose.

Beckett shifted her weight in the chair, her fingers absently tearing at the crumpled tissue that she had been clinging to. She stared down at it dully, wearily relieved for the simple distraction.

_Why would he have been out alone that late? Why wouldn't he have called?_

The movement was enough to stir her companions from the brooding trance that enveloped them. Martha dabbed at the corner of her eye discreetly, mustering the ghost of a reassuring smile for Ryan as she rose from her chair. Starting towards the stairwell door where Alexis had disappeared, she paused to place her hand on Kate's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze:

"Alexis is very...upset right now. Please understand...I'm sure she didn't mean harm towards you. She knows how much you care about Richard. We both do."

Beckett brought her fingers to his mother's, returning the gesture. "I know. She just needed some time alone. I'll call you as soon as we hear from the doctors – they should be out to give us an update any time now."

They exchanged weary smiles before Martha embarked to locate Alexis. As the stairwell door hissed shut, Beckett slumped down in her chair, defeated. Alexis was right: They had nothing.

The pads of her fingertips traced slow circles on her temple as she mentally filed through the foggy memories of the prior evening. This was New York City – people were attacked and left to die in allies every day. Her own kin were testament to that. She bit down on her lip, willing herself to push the thought from her mind. _It was happening all over again._

This scene had somehow seemed different, however. She couldn't place the cause of the dissonance, but she knew. Something had just been...wrong_._

She jerked forward, her teeth setting on edge. Esposito and Ryan looked at her questioningly, brows furrowing in concern at the sudden outburst.

"Espo...were there any blood trails leading to or from where we found Castle? Drops, drag marks... anything?"

He pulled his worn spiral notepad from the breast pocket of his jacket and flipped rapidly through the pages, nearly tearing them in his haste.

"That's a negative; Based on the amount of blood that we found and the pooling pattern, we estimated that he stayed where he...fell." His voice faded as he finished the sentence. Talking about Castle like any of their hundreds of other murder victims felt wrong. It shouldn't, but it did. He closed the notepad softly, tucking it back into his jacket.

"So, if he didn't try to move or escape after he was shot," she said, her eyes flashing, "then where did the bloody handprint on the east side of the alley come from?"

Ryan was already up and dialing the CSU collection team when a brisk voice cut through the dull whispers of the waiting room:

"Family of Richard Castle?"

Beckett and Esposito rose, turning to face the source of the summons. A sharply dressed doctor stood at the entrance to the waiting room, his crisp white jacket crinkling against the thick metal clipboard and balanced plastic bags atop it. The grey of his receding hairline met his dark skin at a furrowed brow, housing warm, wise brown eyes. They both extended hands to him in greeting as they approached.

"Hi there, I'm Doctor Arthur Hamill, Mercy's Chief of Staff. You are...Mrs. Castle?" He peered questioningly at her over the rims of his glasses.

Kate stammered, limply shaking his hand before looking down to the floor, cheeks flushed. She should correct him, she knew. But did she want to?

Sensing her discomfort as she stumbled for words, Esposito drew the doctor in for a firm handshake, drawing his attention from his friend. _Way to go, jackass_.

"Actually, his mother and daughter have just stepped out. This is Detective Kate Beckett, his partner, and I'm Detective Javier Esposito. Myself and my partner, Detective Kevin Ryan, will be working on Mr. Castle's case."

Dr. Hamill smiled apologetically at Beckett, "Forgive me, Detective, I shouldn't have assumed. However, this meeting is certainly fortunate – as well as news on his condition, I've come to personally sign over his personal effects to the case officer as part of the chain of custody." He gestured at the two thickly-stuffed plastic sanitary bags, sealed neatly with red evidence tape. "I understand that Mr. Castle is a very...high-profile patient, in what may be a very high-profile investigation. I wanted to be the one to assure you that you have the full cooperation and support of New York Mercy Hospital."

They smiled at him weakly as Esposito signed the custody paperwork and relieved the doctor of the bags. Beckett's fingers pressed against the plastic, tracing the contents within. His cell phone – smashed – his wallet, keys...she stopped.

"Dr. Hamill, what's this?" Her finger prodded a small cloth bag, stained a deep red, covering its rectangular contents.

"That was found tucked into the back of his pants when they were cut off prior to his surgery. It appears to be a recording device of some kind, but it was not thoroughly examined. That will have to be something on your end of the investigation, I'm afraid."

Ryan had jogged up behind them and was eying Hamill like an appraiser at an auction.

"You must be Detective Ryan; Nice to meet y-"

Ryan cut him off abruptly. "How is he? How's Castle?"

The doctor's face fell as he perched his glasses on his nose, flipping worriedly through the pages of Castle's chart before looking back to the waiting trio.

"When Mr. Castle arrived, he was in a state of hypovolemic shock due to massive blood loss. This state caused an interruption in the normal flow of oxygen to his heart and brain, which in turn lead to ventricular fibrillation. Fortunately, our ambulance technicians were able to revive him before he slipped into cardiac arrest, but he was still highly unstable."

Beckett felt bile rise in her throat as memories of the ambulance flashed through her mind. Visions of his bleeding, lifeless body replayed to her, echoing what she had been trying to repress since the final surge of electricity opened his eyes to the world one last time before he was lost again to the darkness. She had almost watched him die, just as he had done for her that day in the cemetery.

_Is this the same hell that he went through?_

"He was rushed to the O.R. and our surgeons were able to remove two .22 caliber rounds from his abdomen. They didn't fragment, but..." the doctor removed his glasses and rubbed his temple tiredly, "...the problem with .22 rounds is that they're highly deceptive. One would assume that damage would be minimal due to their small size and density; However, that also usually means that they don't have the necessary velocity to exit the body like a larger caliber might. In most cases – and in Mr. Castle's case, specifically – the rounds tumbled instead of making a clean exit, essentially "bouncing" around inside of him. This caused...significant...internal damage, hence the massive bleeding despite the small wounds."

He returned his glasses and offered a sympathetic face to the detectives, closing Castle's chart.

"My surgeons are still working on fixing him up the best that they can. At this point in time, it's hard to say with certainty what his final prognosis will be, but we're hopeful. The aforementioned bullets will be bagged as evidence and signed over to your crime lab by Mr. Castle's attending physician."

Beckett was the first to speak, so quietly that it almost went unheard.

"When can we see him?"

"It's hard to say for sure, but I expect that he'll be out of surgery in under an hour. After that, he'll be in recovery for another 45 minutes or so before visitors are allowed back."

Ryan's hand squeezed her shoulder. "You should be here. We'll take this stuff back to the station and figure out where we are with CSU. Stay here...he – Castle needs you."

She turned into his shoulder and embraced him in an unusual display of affection before releasing him and turning a watery, strained smile to Esposito.

"You guys get out of here...keep me posted on everything that you find, okay? He's going to be okay. We're all going to be okay."

None of them were sure whether she was trying to convince them or herself, but they departed with reassuring smiles.

"You got it, Beckett."

* * *

><p>Ryan and Esposito stood across from each other in the evidence locker, darkly surveying the objects on the table before them, cleanly displayed in parallel rows.<p>

Under normal circumstances, they were just props. Pieces of evidence to be analyzed, tagged, and filed away until their owners came to claim them or they were terminated by the state. But not this time.

Even if just in passing, these objects were a part of their friend. The broad suit jacket, sharply cut at the shoulders they way that he liked it. The small, worn lanyard on his keyring that he had proudly boasted was Alexis' handiwork in fourth grade art class. Even the NYPD sticker that he had stuck just barely off-center on his phone's case at the last precinct picnic; These miniscule nuances that they had brushed aside or laughed about were a collection of _him_. But on this table, they were just scattered memories. Their linchpin was gone.

"It just doesn't seem right, you know? His life, spread out like this. Like just another case."

Ryan was murmuring quietly to his partner, his gloved hand pushing the possessions around listlessly, unsure of what to search for. Esposito stilled and looked to him:

"It _is_ just another case, bro. That's our boy in there, sure – but he needs us right now. He's counting on us to put this bastard down, and we can't do that if all we see is him instead of the evidence. Right now, this is what we have. Let's talk it out, from when he went down."

Ryan picked up the collared shirt and eyed the front before flipping it over.

"Two shots to the gut, here, and here," he said, pointing with gloved fingers, "like the doc said, they weren't through-and-throughs, so no exit holes. Most of the buttons on the front are missing, probably from when Beckett pulled it apart."

He paused, and brought the fabric to his nose. He handed it to his partner.

"Do you smell what I smell?"

Esposito's brow furrowed. "Cordite, and it's strong. To be expected, I guess – if this was a mugging, it would have been at close range."

Ryan shrugged and flipped open Castle's wallet: "Well, it's empty, as expected. No cash, no credit cards, nothing. So far, I'm liking the mugging theory, but that hand print just isn't adding up. It was fresh, and..."

He moved closer to the shirt that Esposito was still holding up to the light, spread apart at the shoulders.

"Wait a second, Espo...here, put the two front pieces together. I think I see a...no, it can't be. That doesn't make sense."

Esposito laid the shirt onto the table, pulling the two halves together.

"Look at the gunshot residue patterns. The two points of entry are fairly standard – wider, more prominent burns in a circular pattern radiating from the point of origin. But look at the residue on the upper chest and right shoulder...and here on the right shirt sleeve cuff. The residue here is concentrated and disjointed from the two bullet wounds. "

Esposito's jaw tightened as he made the connection that his partner was indirectly explaining.

"Bro...you're not saying what I think you're saying, right? He can't...it's not possible. He wouldn't."

Ryan wiped a hand down his face and stared distantly down at the table. He felt his stomach twist.

"Remember what you said, Javi. We can't make this about us, or about him – not if we're going to be able to look at this objectively. It's about the evidence, even if we don't like what it tells us. We don't know what it means right now, or its context in the scenario, but we do know something."

Esposito looked away darkly, running a hand roughly over the back of his neck. His partner was right, of course, but the realization still stung him.

"We won't say anything to Beckett until we know why, but..." Ryan finished quietly, as if almost unable to believe his own words, "Castle was the one who fired a gun last night."


End file.
